


Schätzchen

by makeadealwithgod



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Hetalia: World Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, M/M, and feliciano is chaotic, ludwig has OCD but he tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeadealwithgod/pseuds/makeadealwithgod
Summary: Anxiety and empty apartments don't tend to mix well, but Ludwig and Feliciano are determined to make the most of it (and hopefully finish unpacking in time for Bake Off).





	Schätzchen

Despite Feliciano’s proposal to go out for lunch to celebrate having finally moved in together, Ludwig was determined to have at least cleared the bulk of the boxes by evening- both on account of his boyfriend’s constantly receding work ethic and his desire to go to bed in a flat that didn’t look like an active war zone. Moving had gone as smoothly as Ludwig had anticipated, although he had suspected a few questioning glances from the contractors, but real or imagined, Feliciano was undeterred. In what couldn’t have been longer than half an hour, his better half had managed briefly map the events of the movers’ lives, their most recent family dramas, their dream dinner party guests, and their exact stance on Italian food. For his part, Ludwig had listlessly offered them a cup of tea, and desperately hoped they would decline. Unfortunately, they accepted, leaving him to rummage helplessly through the sea of boxes as Feliciano delved into the murky waters of their love lives. He had eventually found the teaspoons in the same box as his boyfriend’s toiletries, but he resolved that it was probably better not to ask.

Their flat occupied the second floor of a pristine white townhouse, the windows graced with flower boxes of pansies and marigolds- it was a touch overly-romantic for Ludwig, but it delighted Feliciano, who loathed all things grey and understated. How the property hadn’t already been converted into tourist accommodation was a mystery to Ludwig, nestled between tube stations and within eye-shot of enough attractions to lead holidaymakers to believe they were getting the ‘authentic London experience’, although he had found this to mean a fox stealing half your kebab on a night out. Ludwig suspected it was because their landlord, an older man with a slightly unbalanced gait (who Feliciano _ insisted _ must at least have a Sicilian grandparent, based off of his gesticulations), enjoyed the parental aspect of letting houses. Scarcely minutes into their first viewing, he had barrelled into the room, motioning the men- who he referred to, rather affectionately, as boys- through the flat, indulging them in the comprehensive history of each decoration, fixture, and design flaw. Around the point that the older man began to share his favourite parks to go for a stroll in, the pair had unanimously decided that it was rather important he remained a fixed feature of their lives, and cancelled all other viewings.

By the time the movers had left, they found themselves slightly overwhelmed with the emptiness they were now expected to turn into a home. Perhaps it was easier for Feliciano, whose mind was naturally drawn to artistic opportunity, and therefore lacked the concept of ruining things, but for Ludwig, each bare shelf seemed to be laden with mistakes he was bound to make. As he thought of unloading the boxes, he began to feel as though his hands were much too large and brutish, clumsy things that he could scarcely control; the thought of doing practically anything began to fill him with indescribable despair. He couldn’t quite divorce himself from the anxiety that there was a correct and precise way to go about it, there was a particular order that he hadn’t quite pieced together which would ensure everything went exactly how it needed to and he could stay on top of the boxes upon boxes of clutter.

“So,” Feliciano beamed, “where do we begin?”

“I’ve heard it has something to do with these boxes,” Ludwig drummed his fingers on the cardboard, the anxiety was still there, slowly tugging at him, but his boyfriend’s voice reminded him of what was important, “if only we could figure out what these are for.”

“Why hello there, is that you, Ludwig’s sense of humour? It’s so great to meet you after all these years!”

Resisting the urge to smile, Ludwig brought Feliciano’s hand to his lips and planted a small kiss on his fingers. “A pleasure.”

Truthfully, Ludwig still didn’t have much of a sense of humour, at least not publicly. The idea of encouraging someone to make fun of him was utterly mortifying, but it was still somehow less daunting than explaining that every time he thought about starting to unpack his chest froze up in fear. The moment they began, he was painfully aware that he wouldn’t be able to stop until everything had been unpacked and organised completely, that the idea of leaving a pile of boxes half empty to get back to in the morning made his palms slick with unease. He had anticipated moving, even seeing Feliciano, to begin with, would bring anxieties he had once reconciled with back to the surface, the same way the closet door that haunted your childhood can once again become sinister in the dark of the night. Perhaps behind the door would be nothing, because there never had been a monster hiding there, but the fear remained, and if it terrified you before, perhaps there was a good reason to be afraid now.

Therapy had helped far more than Ludwig would ever care to admit, but it hadn’t quite prepared him for how on earth he was supposed to process being both the happiest he had ever been and yet the most scared too. All he did know was that the had begun to bite his nails again, which was never a good sign, and that Feliciano hadn’t yet noticed said habit, which was most likely a sign that he was worrying too much.

“What if we unpack everything, then sort it all out room by room?” Feliciano was busy scouring the kitchen counter to see where Ludwig had left the boxcutter, unaware of Ludwig’s grimace at such a suggestion.

“That would leave a lot of clutter, I think we should just go box by box.”

“But we’ll just be walking back and forth, it’ll take twice as long.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we have the entire weekend off to do it,” it was a snide thing to say, if his conscience hadn’t already told him so, the way Feliciano looked to his feet awkwardly made it abundantly clear, “I didn’t mean to snap.”

“I know,” he smiled softly, looking to him from the corner of his eye, “besides, hopefully, the boxes have mostly the same stuff in them.”

The first box they opened was packed to the brim with their shared book collection: a few battered art history books that Feliciano hadn’t the heart to part with from uni, Ludwig’s oddly pristine crime thrillers, a copy of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ that neither would lay claim to (though both had read it), and an assortment of recipe books given to Feliciano that he had always been too proud to use. While Ludwig was grateful for the monotony of the task, he could sense Feliciano’s boredom. For Ludwig, the world was a series of patterns and rules, everything had to be done without a degree of error before moving on to the next task, and if that meant scrubbing at a stain on the bathtub until the entire house was coated in a thin layer of bleach, so be it. Especially on his worst days, his boyfriend’s way of thinking seemed alien to him; Feliciano followed his thoughts as though they were wild tangents, constantly unwinding and overlapping onto each other until they all somehow tied together, no matter how unlikely the conclusion seemed. Desperate for some kind of variety, Feliciano had begun peppering books across the flat: darting to the bedroom with a handful of thrillers; piling recipe books on the counter; scattering some light reading across the coffee table.

“You know my lamp? The small, mustard one? It would look so cute on the coffee table,” Feliciano began to cut open into another box, having abandoned the bookcase altogether. Clutter began to spill onto the floor, toppling over one another, a pile of towels landing by Ludwig’s feet with a dull thud.

“You’re making a mess, for God’s sake!” He looked to Feliciano in frustration, holding his breath for longer than he wanted to, as his chest shook ever so slightly. Everything was detestably animate, from the twitch in his palm to the books he was certain were ever so slightly beginning to slide out of place- the movement was imperceptible, but it made him want to throw the entire bookcase out of the window. However irrational, he couldn’t escape the feeling that the apartment itself was mocking him, the walls were just too white, the sofa cushions crinkled in such a way that replacing them would be ridiculous, but he would always be aware of the grooves running across the surface. If the flat had been in total disrepair, run down from years of neglect, perhaps it would have been easier; anything would be an improvement.

It was only when he heard a box slam against the kitchen counter that Ludwig pulled himself from his thoughts, only just noticing Feliciano’s glare. He had never been one to anger easily, which Ludwig had always been grateful for, but unfortunately, Feliciano’s easy temper left Ludwig woefully unprepared to respond to his anger. Ludwig stood, paralysed, watching Feliciano pull out kitchen utensils by the hand-full, staring at the cold metal with an intensity that Ludwig had never seen before.

Most people believe time runs its course as does a river, from the start to the inevitable end, the channels already determined from hundreds of years of erosion. In truth, it ruins like raindrops down a car window, all sliding down the glass entirely separate until suddenly they’re not. In one droplet Ludwig had approached Feliciano with all the force of a great romantic hero and unravelled himself to him until he wasn’t quite sure where he ended and his partner began. Nearly spilling onto the door handle, another droplet held slamming doors and raised voices, darting across the metal before crashing onto the tarmac below. Presently, Ludwig had managed to find a box packed mostly with their bedding, and made his way sullenly to the bedroom, careful not to betray any sign that he could notice Feliciano flinging open the drawers behind him.

Although it couldn’t have been longer than half an hour, by the time Ludwig had emptied his box it felt like hours had passed. The flat was open plan, and resisting the urge to try and sneak glances at his boyfriend was unexpectedly draining- he didn’t know if he would be met with a look of anger or of reconciliation, and wasn’t entirely sure if he was prepared for either. Ludwig had never really learned how to apologise, the only person he had ever been close enough to snap at had been Gilbert, and in fairness, Gilbert mostly saw his short temper as justified. Besides, his brother was as certain as the sun rising in the morning; having to ask for forgiveness, to mend a relationship when it could as easily break apart, was terrifyingly unknown. With a sigh, he scooped the empty box under his arm and made his way across the landing, looking down at his feet as he approached the kitchen.

“You’re angry with me.” Against the wooden floor, Ludwig’s footsteps felt heavy, one foot too far ahead or one step shorter than the last. He felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the flat, as though they were suspended in space, and one deep breath was all it would take to tear his lungs apart. In the kitchen, Feliciano was glowering at the cabinets above him, flinging them open with a bluntness that contrasted the gentleness Ludwig had come to expect from him so jarringly it almost seemed violent.

“I’m not angry with you, Ludwig.” _ You should be _, Ludwig thought to himself miserably, certain that all this conversation could achieve was delay the inevitable. Perhaps he knew that when he broke this moment down into smart, reflective terms he would see the secret, unspeakable wish for his relationship to break down as avoidance, a way to grant another portion of his life to illness. Perhaps he knew it as he stood in the space between the living room and the kitchen, feeling both empty and unbearably full, as though he was living but not in any meaningful way. Another breath and the room shrank, even more, leaving nothing but words he wished he’d never spoke.

“It’s okay if you are-”

“I’m not _ angry _ ,” Feliciano dropped the cutlery onto the counter, the metal ringing harshly in the small space between them, “I just wish you’d sometimes, I don’t know, take a break. Let me be in charge of something- I really don’t think that’s asking for much, being able to decorate _ our _ house, without you breathing down my neck.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, not daring to look up.

“Don’t say that. I don’t want this to be an argument, and I don’t want you to apologise to me. I don’t want you to feel guilty, Ludwig, because I know you didn’t mean to snap. All I want is for you to trust me, I want you to be able to feel like I make the right decisions,” tears welled in his eyes, but not from frustration; it occurred to Ludwig that it took a lot for Feliciano to speak so candidly, “I understand it’s not easy, but I want to feel like there’s room for me too.”

“Look, I can’t make_ this _,” Ludwig momentarily considered tapping his forehead for effect but found he could scrape together enough dignity to still find such a motion unforgivably trite, “go away. But, it doesn’t control me. I- I don’t want it to- not anymore. Not for you.” Doing his best to resist the urge to throw up or otherwise purge himself of all his constituent elements, he met Feliciano’s stare, hoping to find in his gentle brown eyes a justification for such vulnerability. “I knew this was going to be hard, but I was so focused on trying to keep it all under control that I forgot about how much this meant to you. So I’m just going to go out for a bit, I might see Gilbert, take the dogs for a walk, but I’ll let you take over. If that’s what you want?”

Feliciano leaned over the counter, his palm soft against Ludwig’s cheek. Only just drawing himself from his embarrassment, Ludwig felt Feliciano’s lips press against his, and finally, their flat felt like home. Although it wasn’t chaste, they both knew to part before they truly wanted to, or else Ludwig feared they wouldn’t get much done at all. “Just call me before you get home, okay?”

A moment passed as Ludwig lingered by the door, doing his best to ignore his instinct to have the last word. “Okay, schätzchen, I know I said that I’d leave this up to you and I promise I won’t nag you for anything but _ please _, for my sake, don’t cover the bed in cushions. I know they look lovely but we have to move them out of the way every night just to rearrange them and I can’t just lie on top of them because it hurts my back so please-”

“Out!” Feliciano, holding a whisk as though it were a shining rapier, thrust his hand to the door with all the booming command of a Roman Emperor. As he walked out into the breezy afternoon, Ludwig was certain he couldn’t have left their flat in more capable hands.


End file.
